Contagious
by stayathomemum
Summary: Angela gets sick and Tony has to take care of her. During this time, a dark secret from Angela's past is exposed. Canon, Season 3, behind the scenes.
1. Fever

_Takes place sometime in Season 3 after The Christmas Card. Angela is dating Geoffrey but becomes ill and Tony has to take care of her. A behind-the-scenes episode, totally Canon, of what could have taken place when the audience wasn't watching. . . _

The train ride was jostling her neck. Angela couldn't get comfortable in her small seat; the press of the other riders was making her sweaty despite the aching chill deep in her bones. A sour smell pervaded her riding car—an unpleasant mixture of wet wool, stale cigarettes and potato chips. She miserably leaned her head into her hands and tried to close her eyes. She just wanted to get home after the difficult day she'd had. All day she'd been dragging herself, unable to muster sufficient energy for the intense demands of work at her brand new agency

And then Jim Peterson, her former colleague from _Wallace & McQuaid_ had won an account that Angela was so certain to have secured. Mr. Harper had been poised to sign a contract with _The Bower Agency_ only yesterday and then reneged at the last moment with no explanations. What Jim didn't know was that Angela still had friends at _Wallace & McQuaid_ and one of her former assistants had given her the lowdown on how she'd lost her account. Jim had all but stolen her prospective client from under her nose by spreading crude lies about her. The same lies he'd spread at her cocktail party; the lies that had gotten him thrown out into the snow, on his ass by an outraged Tony. Angela pictured the way Jim had looked after being tossed out the door; glasses askew on his face, clothes dirty and dishevelled, and his expression livid . . . Tony had been defending her honour. She mentally smiled at the memory, too weak to form an actual smile on her face. In fact, her face was aching. Her head was throbbing and when she looked out the window, the weak, dying sun scorched her retinas. She gasped at the pain in her eyelids when she looked into natural light and closed her eyes again.

"Are you alright, Dear?" Mona asked her. Angela definitely did not look well. A light sheen of perspiration was forming on her brow, yet she was shivering. Mona touched her daughter's forehead in a quintessential, unexpected motherly gesture. The skin beneath her hands was hot and damp.

"Mother, you're hurting my head. Could you please stop pressing my forehead?"

"Angela, you're sick! You're running a fever. I thought you seemed lethargic today and you barely reacted when that scum Peterson, stole the_ Fibre Kernels Cereal_ account away from you." Mona was worried. Angela rarely got sick beyond her annual winter cold. She was always working, reliable, energetic, a real 'Type A' go-getter.

"Perhaps I'm catching a cold, Mother. I just need a good night's sleep and tomorrow, I'll give Jim a piece of my mind", she responded in a quiet voice devoid of expression. Her throat hurt too much to speak beyond a low whisper.

"I highly doubt you'll be doing anything at all tomorrow" Mona informed her daughter acerbically.

Angela didn't argue; her throat and head were aching too deeply for her to care about being right or wrong or sick or healthy. She just wanted to get home and into bed. If only she could stop shivering; maybe Tony would have some hot soup for her. And he could put his arms around her if she was cold . . .no! Angela mentally rearranged her contemplations. Geoffrey. She needed Geoffrey's arms around her to warm her up. But Geoffrey and warmth were not synonymous. _Tony_ exuded warmth. Warmth and comfort and masculine energy. Too tired to chastise herself for the thought, Angela simply allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of Tony.

Tony, who had encouraged her to found _The Bower Agency_ after _Wallace & McQuaid_ had fired her. Tony, who had supported her, comforted her and been her confidant during one of the most difficult times of her life. Tony, who had helped her find the confidence she needed. She dozed off on the train, leaning against her mother. No thoughts of Geoffrey entered her groggy, fever-addled mind. She just wanted to get home to Tony. Tony was her home.

When Angela and Mona arrived at the train station, Mona decided that her daughter was in no condition to drive them home so she declared with a confidence that she didn't quite feel, that she would be driving them back to the house. She expected an argument but Angela simply slumped into the passenger side of her own car and allowed her mother to drive her. Mona raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing. Her daughter was usually so protective of her Jaguar and always insisted on driving.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Mona's anxiety had risen a notch. Didn't matter that her daughter was in her thirties; the visceral worry that mothers always have when their children are ill was rearing its head, mostly in her stomach. Mona apprehensively helped her daughter into the house, ever so grateful that Tony was here. Tony with his homemade Italian remedies of garlic, lemon and honey tea. Tony with his soothing, reassuring manner and take-charge attitude. That's what they all needed at the moment.

Tony was in the kitchen helping the kids with their homework while preparing dinner. Samantha and Jonathan both had their textbooks and notebooks spread out all over the kitchen table; his fifth grade geography book competing for space with her eighth grade math work.

"But Dad, these fractions aren't making any sense!" Sam complained to her father while he strained the pasta.

"Hold on, Sam. I can only do one thing at a time. Let me just finish this and I'll be right with you . . ." Tony did a little two-step to the fridge, crossed the kitchen back to the stove and threw a generous blob of butter into his linguine. He was making Linguine in Rose Sauce, one of Angela's favorites and certainly appreciated by the kids too.

"Tony, does this map look right to you?" Jonathan asked him.

"Hey, I get him first!" Sam huffed at the younger boy.

"Both of ya, wait!" Tony admonished them as he stirred his rose sauce. Homework time always coincided with dinner preparation and helping kids in two different grades while managing a healthy meal for five could be a bit of a challenge.

Satisfied with his sauce, Tony sat at the kitchen table with the kids and answered their math and geography questions as patiently as he could. He needed to get started on the salad now. Angela and Mona would be home any minute. As if they'd read his mind, the women entered the house through the front door.

Angela made a wobbly beeline for the sofa and stretched herself out. Her head was begging for rest and her neck was having trouble holding it up. Mona worriedly observed her before calling out for Tony.

Tony was unaware of his smile forming; Angela was home. He hurried out to the living room to greet her and Mona. "How are my two favourite working girls today? Did you get the cereal account?" he called out as he swung open the kitchen door. He always made sure he knew exactly what accounts Angela was working on so he could encourage her. She in turn, always confided in him about her clients, the difficulties and the successes of running her agency.

"We lost it . . . to Jim Peterson", Mona informed him. "And, Angela is sick. She's running a temperature."

Tony looked at Angela in surprise. She was lying prone on the couch, looking quite unwell. His mother hen instincts took over strongly.

"Angela, you're sick? What's wrong? Is it your head? Your throat? Your stomach?" Tony put a warm hand on her hot forehead and winced. She was quite feverish indeed. "Angela, why didn't you come home earlier?"

"Tony, please stop", Angela whined. His barrage of well-meaning questions was stressing her out. "I had to try and salvage the cereal account but Jim stole it. I couldn't leave early—it was too busy."

"He stole it? What happened?" Tony couldn't stand Jim Peterson and his sick innuendos about Angela. The man was a jealous creep, unable to handle a younger woman's success.

Angela tried to form a coherent sentence but she was terribly lethargic, so instead she just stated it in the must succinct way possible to conserve her energy. "He told Mr. Harper that I was fired from _Wallace & McQuaid_ because I'm a two-bit tramp. You know the old spiel, Tony. You heard it at my cocktail party." Angela was resigned to it; her energy too low to even care at this point. There would always be Jim Petersons in this world and sometimes it seemed that there was simply no way to fight them. Especially not when she was fighting a fever, aches and chills at the same time. She looked up at Tony helplessly and closed her eyes in defeat.

"He what? Oh, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind and then a piece of my fist . . ."Tony began angrily. He wanted to beat the crap out of Jim Peterson—that man had usurped Angela's position and now he was stealing accounts from her. Tony was furious.

"Tony, calm down", Angela said. "It's par for the course when you're a woman making it in a man's world. You have no idea how much smutty innuendo and opposition I've already come against throughout my career. I'll deal with Jim tomorrow. Right now, I need to go lie down." She forced herself off of the couch and slowly began to head up the stairs when the kids suddenly burst out of the kitchen to greet her.

"Mom! Look at the map I made." Jonathan began running towards his mother but Tony put out his arms to stop the little boy.

"Jonathan, your mom is sick. Keep a safe distance, kids. I don't want you catching whatever she's got", Tony warned them.

"You're sick, Angela?" Samantha asked, worried.

"I'll be alright" Angela reassured them. "Best to be safe, though and do what Tony said. I'm going to lie down upstairs for a bit."

"But Tony made Linguine in Rose Sauce", Jonathan protested. His mom never skipped dinner and certainly not Tony's Italian cooking.

Angela shook her head and made her apologies, disappointing and worrying her entire family. She could hear Tony telling her to take acetaminophen along with promises of hot tea on the way. When she finally made it up the stairs, she felt as though she'd just climbed Mount Everest- her entire body was trembling from chills. Angela quickly undressed and took a very hot shower, as hot as she could stand it before collapsing into bed wearing her thickest flannel nightgown. She vaguely remembered something about needing to take pain killers but the shower had used up the last of her strength, so she simply closed her eyes, nestled in the warmth of her thick, goose down duvet.

Tony decided to go check on Angela the minute the kids had finished their suppers. He'd been brewing her some herbal tea with lemon and garlic and made her a light repast of buttered toast, figuring that she wouldn't want anything else. He took her tray upstairs and lightly knocked at her bedroom door, then slowly let himself in when she didn't answer. She was asleep, her breathing fast from the fever. Tony put her tray on the night table and felt her forehead. Still so hot. He didn't like this at all—in the two and a half years he'd lived with her, Angela had never had a fever like this. He wanted to take her temperature and see how high it was but didn't want to wake her. Instead, he closed the door behind him making a mental note to check on her later.

**To Be Continued . . . **


	2. Danger

**Chapter 2**

A fire-breathing wolf was chasing her through a parking lot and she had to slalom between cars to hide from his cavernous jaws. But her legs failed her and she couldn't run fast enough to escape him. The wolf approached her menacingly, getting closer and closer before blowing fire upon her back, scorching her skin. Angela screamed as she tried to ward off his attack but he wouldn't stop. She was on fire; her entire body roasting and burning in flames.

Tony was about to get ready for bed and planned to check on Angela when he heard her terrifying screams. Alarmed, he raced to her room and found her flailing with the duvet, thrashing about on her bed. Her eyes were closed in sleep but her body was near convulsing.

"Angela? Wake up!" he ordered her fearfully. But she couldn't hear him and continued clawing at the edges of her comforter, moaning fitfully. Tony ran to her bedside and tried to shake her awake. Her eyes opened but when she looked through him with unseeing eyes, he knew that she was delirious. "Madonna mi", he muttered under his breath when he felt her forehead. The heat of her skin scorched his hand. Tony's heart beat fast; he'd never felt a fever like this before. He ran to the bathroom and found the thermometer-he needed to know how bad this was. Gingerly, Tony held the thermometer between his thumb and forefinger and tried to angle it into Angela's mouth, which in itself was quite the challenge. She was still thrashing about, kicking and grasping her duvet while whimpering in her delirium. Somehow, Tony managed to stick the instrument in her mouth. He gently cupped her hot cheek and jaw so it would stay in place. He stared as the red line rose sharply, past 100, 101, 102, 103 (he mentally willed it to stop but it kept going) 104, 105. 105! Tony pulled the thermometer from her mouth and gaped at the number in shock. 105? He'd never seen this number on a thermometer despite nursing Samantha through countless illnesses over the years.

Tony panicked. He didn't know what to do next. He stared at Angela helplessly for a moment, trying to remember what to do. But his brain wasn't responding; his knowledge deserted him and he began to sweat.

Phone. Yes. Phone. Tony picked up the receiver and dialled the doctors Ferguson, hoping that at least one of them would be home. Paul, Marci's father answered.

"Doc, doc, you gotta help me. It's Angela . . . the fever. It's 105! 105.3. I. . . I . . . I don't know what to do!" he shouted into the phone somewhat incoherently.

"Tony? Is that you?" Paul asked. "What's wrong with Angela?"

"Her fever is so high. Over 105! She's delirious . . . oh god. You've got to help me Doc Ferguson!"

"Tony, you need to calm down. Now tell me everything about her symptoms and when this fever began", the doctor spoke in his most soothing voice. Tony did his best to relay the information but he didn't have much to go on.

"Well", began Dr. Ferguson, "there's a nasty flu going around right now. It presents with a high fever, headache, along with a very sore throat. A runny nose will appear after a few days and possibly a cough. The most important thing you have to do right now is lower her fever. Did she take anything for it?"

"I don't know. I told her to but there's no bottle here, Doc. I don't know!" Tony's voice began to rise in panic again.

"Doesn't matter, Tony. Just make sure she gets a dose of ibuprofen _right now_. A full dose. And you need to cool her off. Put her in a cool bath, no higher than eighty degrees. If the meds and bath don't cool her down, then you need to take her to the ER. There could be an infection we don't know about."

"What? How am I supposed to do that?" Tony asked in alarm.

"Tony, get it together! You have to help her. Call me in an hour with her temperature, alright?" Doc Ferguson ended the conversation leaving Tony in a worse state of anxiety than he'd been before calling.

Deep breath, right. Ibuprofen, right. He found the bottle of meds and took out two tablets. He tried to sit Angela up, but her flailing was erratic and she thrashed at him with her arms, "No. I said no! I don't want to! Stop Lyle!" she screamed at him, looking terrified. She was staring beyond him, at an invisible threat.

"Angela, it's **_me_**, Tony! You have to take this medicine, alright? Here, just try and swallow these pills", Tony encouraged her while managing to finally sit her up. He put a tablet in her mouth and gave her some water to chase it down. Fortunately, her reflex kicked in and she swallowed it. He did the same with the second, then decided that he needed help. He'd call Mona; she was Angela's mother after all.

Mona came the minute Tony summoned her-she was worried about her daughter and had no idea that her fever had become so dangerously out of control.

"Oh dear", she cried. "So what did Doctor Ferguson say to do? A bath?"

"Yeah Mona, eighty degrees max. I'll run it and you give her the bath, okay?" Tony wanted to help but he didn't want to overstep where Angela was concerned and he certainly didn't want her to be embarrassed afterwards. He rushed into the bathroom and ran a tepid bath, glancing worriedly into the bedroom every few minutes watching Mona fret over Angela.

"Water's ready, Mona. Call me if you need me", Tony said as he made to exit the bedroom.

"Hold on Tony. I need your help. I can't lift a 125 pound woman into the tub!" Mona apprised him.

If Tony had panicked earlier upon seeing the temperature on the thermometer rise to an alarming number, it was so much more the case now. He pointed stupidly to himself and then back to Mona, "You want me to put her in for you?"

"Tony, you can't chicken out on me now. We have to reduce her fever; please help me", Mona beseeched him with troubled blue eyes.

"Oh Mone", Tony muttered a couple of unintelligible things in Italian while he reluctantly moved back to Angela's bedside. He was tense and apprehensive, unsure of what to do. "Mona, she's not gonna like if I help with her bath!"

"Oh, and she likes burning up with fever? Tony, it's not anything you haven't already seen before. Leave her underthings on but help me get her into the tub, please."

Tony nodded and gestured to Mona, "_You_ undress her. I'll just carry her in." Mona began tugging at the thick flannel nightgown, drawing it upwards to move it over Angela's head. But Angela flinched in her frenzied state. She protested loudly, "Stop it Lyle! Please don't …" she whimpered. Mona gasped in shock. Lyle? She'd only ever known one Lyle in her life and it made no sense that Angela was feverishly calling out his name in fear.

"Who the hell is Lyle?" Tony asked uneasily, his back to the two women. "Angela was babbling about him earlier. Sounds like she's scared of him.

"I don't know", Mona lied. But her heart leapt into her chest when Angela cried out loudly, her voice high and childish, "Lyle, noooooooo!" Mona was not a woman of prayer but right now, she offered a quick one upstairs for her daughter—for both the fever and the feverish ramblings about Lyle. Lyle, her late husband's best friend, devoted employee, and the man who had helped her and Angela regain their lives after Robert's death. He'd been a lifesaver. For Angela to scream about him in such a horrifying way, even in her delirious state was disconcerting to say the least.

"Come on, Tony. I don't know what she's rambling about but let's get her in the water." Tony kept his back to her then turned around with his eyes closed.

"Where is she, Mona? Just direct me and I can put her in …" he began before Mona cut him off.

"Don't be ridiculous! She's got a camisole and underwear on . . . just open your eyes, will you? You need to see where you're going!"

Reluctantly, Tony did as he was told. Mona sounded quite frantic herself and he needed to step up. His breath hitched in his throat and he exhaled sharply. Even in her feverish state, she was simply beautiful. He tried not to look at her, to give her the privacy and respect she deserved. But his eyes were drawn to her long, toned legs. The simple cotton camisole and underwear covered her adequately but he wasn't used to seeing so much of her uncovered. Regaining his senses, he nodded at Mona and gently scooped Angela up. Her skin felt fiery against him as she lay limply in his arms.

Together they headed into the adjacent bathroom, Mona following closely at Tony's heels. Tony carefully lowered Angela into the tepid water, careful not to hit her head against the side of the tub. His hand stayed at the back of her neck, cupping it until she was properly reclined. Angela was now submerged but nonresponsive.

"Tony, why isn't she reacting? The water is cool!" Mona cried out in alarm.

"I don't know Mona. Come on, let's bring down this fever. Grab me a cloth for her forehead, will ya?" Tony was trying to be calm and reassuring for Mona's sake but he felt sick to his stomach with dread. He grabbed the washcloth from Mona, wet it and began stroking Angela's forehead for what felt like an eternity while she simply lay there, oblivious to her surroundings.

"Angela, can you hear me? We're trying to bring your fever down. Please Angela . . . please …" he implored her, his voice cracking with emotion. He just wanted her fever to come down. She began to move about in the water, the ibuprofen starting to take effect.

"Tony?" she asked weakly.

"Yes! It's me. Do you know where you are?" he asked her.

Angela lifted her head weakly and looked around the bathroom in surprise. "I'm in the tub?" she croaked. Even in her state of extreme feebleness, she shielded her body with her hands. Mona pushed past Tony and sat on the edge of the tub.

"Yes, you're in the tub. Angela, your fever is extremely high and you were delirious. We had to lower it-it was an emergency." Mona explained. "Don't worry, you've got clothes on", she reassured Angela when her daughter glanced down at herself in alarm.

"So cold. I'm so cold", she complained. "I want to get out, please."

"Not yet", Tony told her apologetically. "First, we're gonna take your temperature again. It was over 105!" He went into the bedroom and quickly returned with the thermometer.

Mona took Angela's temperature and breathed a sigh of relief. "It's 102.2 now. It's really come down."

"Never thought I'd be happy to see 102 on a thermometer, Mona! The bath and meds worked. You can come out now, Angela", he told her.

Angela's teeth began to chatter violently as Tony and Mona helped her out of the water. She was frozen to the core and embarrassed to be seen in her thin, wet underthings. She gratefully wrapped the thick towel around herself. Tony was looking away to give her privacy as she leaned against him for support. He led her to her bed, while continuing to avert his eyes. But throughout her bath, he'd seen everything through the sheer, white, barely-there garments. He tried not to dwell on the memory of her perfect body, and she really was perfect. Long limbed, slim, curves in all the right places, smooth creamy skin. He shook his head and felt somewhat guilty for dwelling on his boss'—his friend's body. He felt as though he was invading her privacy.

"Uh, Mona, do you think you can help Angela get into some dry things? I'll go call Dr. Ferguson with an update", Tony announced before practically running out of the room, his face flushed.

XXXXX

During the night, Tony checked on Angela again. He couldn't sleep knowing that her ibuprofen would wear off and that her fever would spike again. He sat on a chair beside her bed and watched her sleeping. Her forehead was warm but not dangerously hot as it had been. He felt weary to the bone; all the adrenaline that had coursed through his bloodstream earlier left him shaky and exhausted. Angela's fever had scared him; he always thought of her as strong. She was one of the strongest women he'd ever met and he admired her tremendously. Not only did he admire her, but he respected her and held her in a naïve reverent awe. He knew there were sparks between them; the attraction was palpable. He could feel it in the way she looked at him, her dark eyes lit with affection and something else he couldn't quite name. It was that transcendent quality in her gaze that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. He spent so much energy simply trying to sublimate his desire for her but at times, he could feel it escaping like tendrils of smoke from a hot flame. She felt it too—that he knew. Because he felt that same indefinable passion emanating from her. When they were tired, had a bit too much to drink or simply spent a lot of time in each other's company . . . there it was. That _thing_, that _chemistry_, that unconscious mingling of their true selves. Whatever it was, he had to make sure they kept a lid on it because it had the potential to boil over. Besides, she had Geoffrey with a G. Geoffrey, rich, successful and somewhat handsome, he begrudgingly conceded in his mind. Tony had practically thrown her at Geoffrey during the Ferguson wedding after being taunted by that ignorant old couple at their table. But they'd been right—nothing was more stupid than marrying your housekeeper.

At about five in the morning, Angela woke up feeling absolutely horrible. Her throat hurt, her head ached and she was shivering. She knew her fever was spiking again and became anxious. Had it really hit 105? Her teeth were chattering again and her entire body shuddered from chills. She turned uncomfortably in her bed and noticed Tony sleeping on the floor, the plush pink carpet his only mattress.

"Tony", she rasped. "Tony?" She was so cold and didn't want to leave her warm duvet.

Tony woke up feeling slightly disoriented. "Angela? Are you . . . are you alright?" he asked, sleep dissipating from the edges of his mind as his apprehension took over.

"I'm so cold, Tony. Frrrrozen. I think I need more medication. Where is it?"

Tony stood up and located the bottle of ibuprofen on her night table. He sat on the edge of her bed and gave her two more tablets then took her temperature again. 104. "Angela, your fever is spiking again. I can get you a cool cloth."

"No. I'm so cold. Tony, I need to warm up. Please, can you warm me up? I can't stop shivering. No cold cloths." Angela wanted him to get under the covers with her to warm her up. She felt a bit guilty because Geoffrey wouldn't like that one bit but she didn't too much care at this moment.

"Do you want an extra blanket?" he asked her. "Perhaps a hot water bottle?"

"No, Tony, just warm me up. You." Angela lifted the edge of her duvet in invitation. She didn't want to be alone, not merely because she was sick but because she felt as though she'd had a very bad nightmare and its remnants lingered unpleasantly. What had she dreamt about that had upset her so much? She felt frightened and didn't know why.

Tony was too tired to protest or come up with a valid reason as to why this was not a good idea. He crawled into her bed, reminding himself that she was sick. Very sick and she needed him. This was not romantic in the least, he told himself.

"Hi", he said as he slid under the covers next to her. She was still so hot to the touch.

"Hi", she whispered back to him. She snuggled against him, desperate to stop shivering. He held her tightly against him, contagion be damned. At this point, he didn't care if he got sick. He only wanted to help her feel better. He stroked her arms and wrapped himself around her back.

"Tony, thank you—for taking care of me."

"You got it, Angela. How could I not? Your fever was so high. God, you were delirious. It scared me."

"Delirious? How?" She was curious. She'd never been delirious before and didn't remember it now.

Tony paused for a moment, unsure if he should ask. But curiosity got the best of him. "Angela, who's Lyle? You kept screaming at him."

He felt Angela's entire body tense up in his arms. She had stopped shivering but now, went rigid with horror. "Lyle?" It was barely a whisper, more of a whimper really.

"Yeah, who is that? Angela?" Tony felt very perturbed now. Something was terribly wrong.

"I can't . . . I can't talk about Lyle, Tony. Not now." He heard a small sob escape her. Tony had never seen her react this way. On some deep level within him, he knew . . . he just knew.

"It's okay Angela. You don't have to tell me. But I'm your friend and if you ever want to talk about it, you can talk to me", he reassured her, not sure if he really wanted to know or not. Something bad had happened with Lyle and he would be there for Angela no matter what. But he had the feeling that whatever this was, Lyle was a hell of a lot worse than a high fever.


	3. Best Friends

**Chapter 3**

Tony woke up in Angela's empty bed. He remembered climbing in with her, at her invitation because she was so cold and needed warming up. Seemed like she needed a friend too, especially after he'd brought up the name "Lyle" to her, concerned as he was about her frightening feverish outbursts. But she hadn't told him anything and they'd both fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around her burning body. Now, he abruptly sat up, wondering where she was.

"Angela?" he called out softly. The bathroom door was closed so she must be in there. Her alarm clock showed that it was barely past seven in the morning. The kids! He had to get the kids' breakfasts and lunches for school. He stumbled out of her bed, feeling deeply exhausted from his long night's vigil over the fever.

Angela exited the bathroom, pale and feverish. She still felt terrible but her 5 am dose of ibuprofen was holding her fever steady. She looked at Tony somewhat bashfully and began apologizing to him profusely.

"Tony, I'm so sorry. I ruined your night and I shouldn't have asked you to warm me up, but I was so cold and couldn't stop shivering. I didn't mean to inconvenience you so", she babbled, the fever making her speak too quickly and loudly. She walked shakily towards him, dragging her limbs like heavy lead weights.

"Here Angela, get back into bed. And don't apologize to me! You were really sick last night", he locked eyes with her and smiled at her tenderly before adding, "You're my friend, Angela. And that's what friends do. I'm sorry I fell asleep in your bed, er, I only meant to warm you up and was gonna leave." He looked at her sheepishly. "Hey, at least Bobbi Barnes wasn't here with her camera crew this time." He let out a sigh of relief, watching her lips curl into a slight smile at the memory.

"Tony, how about we stop apologizing to each other. Instead, I'll thank you", she smiled at him gratefully before snuggling back under her covers.

"Angela, I'm gonna get the kids ready for school but then I'll be back with hot tea. Do you think you can eat a little something?" he asked her hopefully.

"I'm not hungry but I'll definitely drink some hot tea. Please don't put garlic in it. I just want plain, boring, orange pekoe tea with honey and lemon."

"You got it . . . Boss".

XXXX

"Check Mate!" Geoffrey announced loudly, pleased with himself for winning another round of chess. He was sitting on the edge of Angela's bed with a plethora of board games. He was keeping her company and making sure she drank her fluids, while maintaining a safe distance from her flu germs. Here, on the edge of her bed, sitting next to her feet was close enough for him.

Angela felt listless. Geoffrey's forced cheer was hurting her head and she was feeling cold again—a sure sign that her fever was beginning to spike. She wanted Tony. He knew what to do and he wouldn't torment her with endless games of chess when her sinuses were stuffed up and her brain was on temporary hiatus.

"Geoffrey, I'm getting tired", she told him. Angela wanted him to take a hint and leave. Unfortunately, the declaration of fatigue had an opposite effect on her boyfriend.

"Oh, my poor Angel", he cooed. "Of course you're tired. How about I read to you? I have the _Financial Post_ and _Trader's Weekly_. Some very good stock tips for you", he told her enthusiastically.

"Stock tips? Oh." Angela didn't want to be rude so she lay her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes while Geoffrey droned on and on about the stock market, reading from his magazine. She really had other things to worry about. Jim Peterson for one. She wanted her cereal account back. It was rightly hers. Jim was using _her_ campaign ideas and it disgusted her. The client had loved her campaign and told Jim what parts he wanted to use from it. She'd already called Jim's office numerous times from her sick bed but he wouldn't take her calls. She needed to get well, drag herself to work and schedule a face-to-face meeting with her nemesis. Or better yet, use the element of surprise on him. Ream him in.

She was sick of being sick, of being cooped up. Tony's rule of thumb was that she needed to be fever-free for at least 24 hours before he'd even consider letting her out of the house. And so far, her fever hadn't broken. Three days and the damned thing continued to spike, though not as high as before. Just high enough to make her uncomfortable, exhausted and cold. And high enough that Tony wouldn't let the children near her. Dr. Ferguson had kindly checked her out and diagnosed her with influenza. There was nothing she could do but rest, drink plenty of fluids and keep her fever down. And stay away from the kids, he'd told her, confirming that Tony was already doing everything right.

She was ever so grateful for Tony's bedside manner and great care for her. He made her chicken noodle soup from scratch and lots of hot tea. He instinctively knew when she needed company and when she needed to be alone. She looked forward to his visits because he didn't read to her from the _Financial Post_ or give her stock tips. He saved the funnies section for her and bought her cheesy romance novels-it was all her feverish brain could handle at the moment. He tempted her appetite with light-as-air chocolate cookies and Jell-O. And when she'd complained about having cabin fever, he had rearranged the furniture in her bedroom, moving her bed off to the side so that she could look out the window. "There you go, Angela. Now you can see the birds and pretend you're in a different room", he'd told her with a wide grin.

So, now Angela sat in her rearranged bedroom, listening to Geoffrey read. She tried to fall asleep, using his droning voice as a sleep aid but every once in a while, he'd ask her a question about her investment portfolio and startle her out of a dreamy dozing twilight. It was time for him to go. He was sweet and well-meaning but he was tiring her out. His mere presence was exhausting, from his silly knock at her door to his loud fretting over her health and his not so subtle fear of catching her germs.

"I need to sleep now, Geoffrey. Thank you for coming—it was very kind of you", she told him, hoping he'd finally go.

"Oh my Angel. You poor baby; awww. Do you know that you're beautiful when you're sick?" he gushed.

"Geoffrey, please!" Angela's nerves were frayed and she was losing patience.

"I'm going my love. But I'll be back, same time tomorrow", he told her as he danced backwards out of her bedroom, blowing her kisses. "These are to hold you until I can kiss your sweet lips again", he promised her. Angela forced a smile, then let out a deep sigh when he finally left her room. She waited to hear the front door closing before popping two more ibuprofen and calling for Tony.

Tony let Geoffrey out and heard Angela calling him. He took the stairs two at a time, unsure why he was in such a hurry to see her. Geoffrey had been with her for a couple of hours and he hadn't wanted to intrude during their couple time but now, he wanted to make sure she was alright with his own eyes.

"Hi, how are you feelin'?" he asked as he entered her room. The bed was now to the right of the door so Angela could look out of the window. He'd gone and hung a bird feeder from the tree nearest her window to give her a good view of the cardinals. He knew how much she loved them and they happened to be his favourite bird too.

"I think I might be a bit hungry. Do we have any more soup?"

"Hungry? Oh good, you're hungry? Angela, I'm so happy to hear you say that!" he told her with a gleeful smile. "I made more chicken noodle soup for you, with extra garlic. And I added some ginger too. It should be ready in about half an hour. Is that okay? 'Cause if you can't wait, I can bring you some …"

"Tony, half an hour is fine. Thank you. I really appreciate it—your soup is the best I've ever had", she smiled at him.

"So…" Tony sat on the edge of Angela's bed. He sat a bit closer than Geoffrey had, up near her waist, not down by her feet. At this point, he figured that if he hadn't caught her flu, he was probably immune.

"So…" she repeated, looking at him. "What is it, Tony?"

"Did, uh, did you have a nice visit with Geoffrey?"

"Yes, it was very kind of him to visit me. We played chess and he gave me tax advice", she tried to say it without sounding ironic but the effort made her smile.

"Chess and tax advice? So, are you ready for a nap now?" Tony couldn't help but tease. Of all the things to do with a sick person running a fever, chess and tax advice would be at the very bottom of his list.

"Tony", she said in mock reproach, "Geoffrey was very sweet. I just wasn't in the mood to talk about my tax portfolio, that's all."

"So, what do you want to talk about? Anything new Angela? You like your new furniture set up? Did you notice the bird feeder there?" Tony pointed at the tree just outside her window.

"Yes, thank you Tony. I did notice and I've been enjoying the birds."

"Good. Good." They stared at each other for a moment until she finally looked away, a bit self-conscious from the intensity of his gaze.

"Angela, um, there's something I've been thinking about. Well, worrying about", he paused and waited for her to speak but she didn't say anything. She looked at him then back down at her hands. He was doing it again; staring at her too intently. His scrutiny ever so penetrating that she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

Angela swallowed hard. "What are you worried about, Tony?" Oh dear, that come out an octave too high, she belatedly realized.

"Angela, I don't know if I should bring it up. You said you didn't want to talk about it but you were so upset. Um . . . with that person you were screaming about during your delirium." Tony couldn't back out now. He'd brought it up. If only he could keep his broken Roman nose out of her business. But he couldn't. He was opinionated and he was worried, which made him even bolder in his desire to approach her about this topic. Over the past few days, he'd been ruminating about this "Lyle" business and Angela's recalcitrance to discuss him. And now, she was acting strangely again . . . staring at him, eyes wide and troubled.

"Tony . . .", Angela didn't know what else to say. She looked away, visibly shrinking before him as she sank down into her covers.

"Angela. Who is "Lyle"?" Tony asked her determinedly. Now he needed to know.

Angela blinked hard to keep from crying. Her worlds weren't supposed to collide like this. Tony was her "now" and he represented everything about her adulthood that was going well; her agency and the inadvertent family they'd formed together. Lyle was the past-everything bad that she'd repressed and tried to forget about for two decades. She'd firmly lodged Lyle in the past, stuffed down the horrific memories and sublimated them since the tender age of fourteen.

She'd turned to food, which had both numbed the pain and created a protective, insulating layer of fat around her. Fifty pounds of security that had become her shield and armor. She'd gone and hidden herself away at Montague Academy, in a safe, all-female environment because of Lyle. And then, when she was finished stuffing her face full of greasy, fried stuff, fudge and ice-cream to forget her hurt, she'd graduated with top honors, a strong young woman. A survivor with a steel exterior hiding a wounded core.

Therefore, she couldn't talk to Tony about Lyle. He'd view her differently, as a victim. After all the effort she'd made to overcome the dreadful events following her father's death, the last thing she needed was Tony getting into her business. Especially this. This was too shocking and he might not understand.

So she forced herself to look at him now, steadily, calmly and told him, "Lyle was my father's best friend. I don't want to talk about him. There's nothing to tell."

Tony didn't believe her for an instant. If Lyle was her father's best friend, then why had Mona never heard of him? And if there was 'nothing to tell', then why the bizarre reaction? He'd just hit her with a live wire and Angela was trying to pretend that she wasn't being electrocuted at this very moment. He looked at her incredulously, thrown by her bald-faced lie. Angela, who was always so honest. He stammered for a moment, unsure if he should pursue it. Because now it nagged at his spirit; it wasn't mere curiosity—he was downright disturbed. The 'Lyle mystery' made no sense to him.

"I ain't buyin' it, Angela." Tony put it as bluntly as possible. "There's something going on and seems to me that it's a big thing. I never saw you so upset and Mona lied to me. Now you're lying to me."

Angela didn't know how to react to that one. Her eyes widened in surprise at being called out so easily. "You talked to Mother about Lyle?!" she asked in horror. "Oh my god, Tony. What did you say?" Angela was beginning to panic now.

"Calm down, Angela! I didn't say anything. I just asked her who Lyle was-back when you were delirious and screaming for him to stop. Stop what? What did your father's friend do that was so bad?" Tony's heart was pounding. He needed to get at the truth but he was scared too. Because once that line was crossed with her, he wouldn't be able to go back.

"Why? Why do you need to know? You don't need to know this, Tony. Nobody knows."

"Nobody knows what?" he challenged. He was close. Perhaps he ought to have stopped right then and there but the look on her face told him differently. She was outraged yet vulnerable. And worst of all, whatever this secret was, it looked like it weighed at least a thousand pounds. He wanted to help her and he craved her trust.

More softly now, he took one of her hands in his, "Ay-Oh, Angela", he said gently. "Do you need to talk? What is _this thing_ that nobody knows about? I can handle it. Anything."

"Tony, I don't want you to see me differently. I've put it behind me. Lyle's been dead for years now and there's no point in resurrecting the past."

"Yeah but, it's still sitting here like a tonne of bricks. When you were delirious, your fear came out. You're carrying this thing, alone. Why?" He gently stroked the back of her hand, then placed it back on her lap and met her eyes solemnly. "I promise, Angela—I promise that whatever you tell me will be held in strictest confidence. Just know that you can trust me. I'm your friend. And nothin' you say could ever change how I think of you. To me, you're **_you_**—strong, capable, brave and sweet. It's okay, Angela."

Angela was surprised. She hadn't expected this show of support and powerful declaration of friendship. Truth be told, she'd never had a friend like him. He was becoming her best friend—the best that she'd ever had.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Angela?"

"You think of me as a good friend?" she asked shyly, wondering if he actually did.

"The best, Angela. And not just in Connecticut either—I'd say, well, I'd say that you_ are_ my best friend. Why, is that weird?"

"No, not weird. I guess I'm a bit surprised because I think I just realized the same thing about you. Tony, I've never had a friend like you; one that I trust completely. I really do trust you, Tony", she smiled at him shyly and grasped his hand.

"Good, so does that make us 'best friends', Angela?" Tony's heart skipped a beat from joy. She considered him her best friend?

"I guess it does, Tony." She paused and studied him for a moment. He was absolutely trustworthy. She'd never told a single soul about Lyle. Instead, she'd begged her mother to send her to Montague Academy for all sorts of reasons that had nothing to do with the truth. She wondered if it would help to tell him—if it would unburden her. Give him a greater understanding of where she'd come from.

"Alright Tony", she began. "I'm going to tell you this because you're my 'best friend' and because you're the father of a daughter who is the exact same age I was when this happened to me. You need to keep a close eye on Samantha—to protect her and keep her safe, Tony. Don't ever let what happened to me happen to her."

"What …", he looked at her and saw the raw pain and new resolve in her eyes. This was brutal for her but she was determined. Secrets lost their power once you revealed them. That she knew. And this was a biggie—she hadn't even told Mother or Michael or any of her friends. None of them could have handled it, she knew.

She took a deep breath, grasped his fingers and spoke, "It all began in the weeks following my father's death. I was only fourteen and Lyle …"

**To Be Continued**


	4. Secrets

**Chapter 4**

She took a deep breath, grasped his fingers and spoke, "It all began in the weeks following my father's death. I was only fourteen and Lyle became indispensable to Mother and me. We weren't functioning, Tony. Mother was medicated out of her mind on valium. She was barely conscious, hidden away in some corner of our big, empty house nursing her grief." Angela paused for a moment. The memories were painful-remembering Mona in that fragile, pathetic state was difficult to think about. Robert's sudden death had shocked them both to the core but instead of turning to each other, Mona had turned to doctors and medications. Angela had had no choice but to keep it together and help plan her father's funeral, contact family and friends and go through his personal effects by herself. But some things she hadn't been able to do. She'd been lost when faced with confusing documents, wills, inheritances and the like.

"What happened, Angela?" Tony could see this was difficult for her. He couldn't begin to imagine how overwhelmed the grieving teenager must have felt after losing her father and been unable to turn to her mother. Tony looked at her encouragingly. "It must have been a really tough time for you. What did you do?"

"I did everything, Tony. The planning, the organizing, the cleaning up. Mother let me, or rather, she didn't try to stop me. But some things, I didn't know how to do-the paperwork and what needed to be taken care of from Daddy's office. I was only in the ninth grade, Tony . . . I had no idea what needed to be done", she said almost apologetically.

"Of course you didn't. You were fourteen. Do you think that Samantha would be able to figure any of this stuff out if I died?" He said, trying to reassure her.

"Oh God, Tony. Don't say that! You can't …"

"Die?"

"Tony!"

"Angela, all I'm saying is that you were just a kid."

She nodded at him, grateful for his understanding. "So Tony, here I was-_just a kid,_ overwhelmed with responsibilities that I couldn't handle and Mother was abusing pharmaceuticals. This is where Lyle stepped in to help us", she looked down now, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice.

"What did Lyle do?" Tony prompted her so that she wouldn't stop now. This needed to come out and he wanted to show her that he was in her corner, no matter what.

"Lyle was Daddy's right-hand man, best friend and all around 'good guy'. He was "Uncle Lyle" to me and his wife was "Aunt Mary". They were like family, Tony. My father had known him since college—they worked together, played together, raised kids . . . _damn_. Sorry Tony . . . I need a second." Angela was remembering one of the numerous times that both families had gotten together. At the precocious age of six, Angela had declared very determinedly that she would marry Uncle Lyle one day. She hadn't understood why all the grownups had burst out laughing. All but Uncle Lyle—he'd picked her up and swung her around. "Don't mind them, Angela. You and I can absolutely get married one day. We just won't tell Aunt Mary." She'd giggled conspiratorially with him and then scampered off to play with Lyle's older daughters, feeling understood and loved by him.

"Tony, I trusted Lyle. He was part of our lives-we vacationed with his family, had BBQ's, attended birthdays and I was friends with his two daughters. When Daddy died, he helped me so much. He took care of mountains of paperwork and he helped us get the house ready for sale. Mother wanted to move because the memories were too painful and our enormous house had become a burden. It got to the point that we _needed_ Lyle. By himself, he cleaned up years of accumulated junk in our house, contacted a real estate agent and helped Mother get off of her damned pills. I can remember seeing them in the kitchen—he was holding her pill bottle away from her with one hand and hugging her with his other. He was strong and good and he reminded me of my father." And therein lay Angela's _Achilles Heel_. She had loved Lyle and told him everything. When he'd driven her around in his huge blue Chevrolet, she'd felt like a princess, sitting up front with him. He'd taken her out for hot chocolate and croissants and let her unburden herself. She had even developed a little crush on him; he was a handsome, powerful man. What she couldn't have known was that she was in the company of a predator, one who was grooming her.

"I admired him so much, Tony. He would regularly call me just to find out how my day was and I confided in him about Mother's difficulties. He became my lifeline after Daddy's death. He'd pick me up from school and during the rides home, he began to confide in me about his life—the difficulties in his marriage and …"

"This man told you, a fourteen-year-old girl, about the difficulties in his marriage?" Tony was aghast.

"You don't understand, Tony. It seemed so normal at the time. I was his 'special friend'—his 'other daughter'. He confided in me because he said I was so mature…" Hearing herself say the words out loud made Angela realize how twisted that sounded. "I didn't know it was weird, Tony!" she replied defensively. "I'm trying to explain how the thing with Lyle began because . . . I never expected him to rape me!" Angela gasped at her own words; she hadn't been intending to let that out just yet. She clamped her hands over her mouth, wishing she could take it all back. Tony was staring at her in shock. He blinked hard and drew a deep breath, never taking his eyes off of her.

"He raped you?" Tony was desperately trying to keep his voice under control. Angela was telling him her deepest, darkest secret and he had to listen to her, not explode with rage.

"Oh my god, Tony. I've never, ever said it. Lyle raped me when I was fourteen." Angela tried to calm her breathing; it was coming in too fast and she was beginning to hyperventilate a bit. She was regaining her power in declaring the truth but after twenty odd years of denial, she'd sent herself spiralling into shock, with Tony along for the ride. She began to speak quickly now, the desperate need to unburden herself taking over.

"Lyle invited me to his country home, along with Aunt Mary of course. Mother was more than happy to let me go with them; she trusted him implicitly. We both trusted him. He was a pillar of the community, a respected businessman, friends with important people, a husband and father . . . we had no reason not to trust him!"

"And he violated your trust in the worst possible way", Tony said between clenched teeth. He blinked away tears and hastily brushed them away with his hand. Then he put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of support. "Tell me the rest, Angela. You need to say it." She nodded at him.

"I was asleep when he came to me. He woke me up, and said that he'd had a fight with Aunt Mary and that he needed to talk. And you know what's crazy about it, Tony? I didn't even think that was strange. I'd grown so accustomed to being his confidante that I actually listened to him. He had listened to me enough times since Daddy's death so I was doing what was expected of me." Angela shook her head at her own naiveté. "I was so stupid!"

"Hey, don't blame yourself, Angela! You were a child—Sam's age. Remember that! This guy was a slime, coming into your room in the middle of the night to talk about his marital problems. If some middle-aged guy tried that with Sam, I'd throw him out the window, on his head!" Tony said menacingly. He wished he'd been there to protect a teenaged Angela.

"The way it happened-I realize now that he planned it that way. He was crying, Tony. What the hell was I supposed to do? I'd never seen a grown man cry before and it scared me a bit. Uncle Lyle was crying on my bed, in the middle of the night so I put my arms around him to comfort him. He told me he loved my long, brown hair. That's when I started feeling uncomfortable!" And, she didn't add, the reason why she'd eventually dyed it blonde. "I told him that he should go back to Aunt Mary-he was stroking my hair-it felt wrong and I wanted him to go. Except he didn't leave. Instead, he reminded me that I'd wanted to marry him when I was six. He reminded me that I was his _special friend_ and told me that sometimes _special friends_ did _special things_ for each other." Angela had to pause again and catch her breath. She observed Tony's hands curling into fists, his eyes narrowed in rage.

"Tony, are you going to be okay hearing this? Maybe I should stop now. You already know what happened next." Reliving the night of her rape wasn't easy and Angela wanted to stop. She'd avoided thinking about it for twenty-one years after all.

"Angela, as hard as it is for me to hear this, I'm sure it's a hell of a lot harder for you to tell it. I can . . . I can handle it", he uttered painfully. "I just want to go kill the guy with my bare hands!"

"He's already dead. Been dead for years", she informed him. Angela felt numb and detached again, the way she usually felt when reminders of Lyle came up. Once the panic and horror subsided, her survival instincts took over, disconnecting her from her pain.

"Just tell me the rest of it", Tony blurted out as he braced himself for her dreadful account.

Angela watched Tony for a moment, noting his determined jaw and the agony in his eyes. "Tony, there isn't much more to tell. He forced himself on me. It's like Lyle disappeared and this monster took over. He didn't listen to me when I told him to stop, when I cried, when it hurt . . . he didn't care. He just wanted what he wanted." Her delivery was monotone, her voice dull and devoid of emotion. "Well he did reassure me of one thing—he told me he'd had a vasectomy. Except, I didn't even know what that was. I was so innocent."

Tony stared at her aghast and confused. He wanted to comfort her but she sat immobile like a block of marble, untouchable. He reached out to give her a hug but she flinched.

"Don't", she warned him. If he touched her, she'd lose it and give into her tumultuous emotions. Right now, they were right where they needed to be-distant and locked away.

"But Angela . . .", he began, needing to comfort her. He needed comfort himself. Just imagining what she must have gone through made him feel ill.

Angela cut him off, "So now you know. And you'll keep Samantha safe; that's why I told you. Mother had no idea that Lyle was dangerous. None of us knew. You have to be vigilant and protect Sam. Because nobody protected me."

"Angela, don't you think you ought to tell Mona about this?" Tony couldn't understand how a fourteen year old girl had kept this to herself, even from her own mother.

"No!" Angela sat up straighter. "No, I'm not telling her Tony. She'll blame herself and I can't do that to her. She wasn't functioning properly—I already told you that. Promise me that you won't tell anybody, Tony." Angela was adamant. She did not want her mother to know; she feared the knowledge would destroy her.

"But . . . but" Tony stammered in protest.

"Promise! Tony, promise me. Please. Don't make me regret telling you this." Angela swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat at the thought of Tony betraying her confidence.

"Alright. I won't say a word", he grudgingly agreed to her conditions. "But I think that Mona would want to know. If it were Samantha, I'd want to know!"

"Are you sure, Tony? Because if you found out twenty-one years after the fact and learned that you hadn't been able to keep your daughter safe, would you really want to know it?" Angela challenged him.

"I . . . I don't know. But I'd want to commit murder, Angela." He grasped her hand then, needing to acknowledge her ordeal in some way that didn't make her flinch. "Angela, how did you get away from him? I mean, you were stuck at his vacation home with him."

Angela looked away from him and pulled her hand back. "I didn't get away. We were there for several days. I couldn't call Mother to pick me up because she would have been suspicious. And I couldn't tell Aunt Mary because it would have devastated her. I endured it for three days."

No, she couldn't possibly mean. Tony felt sick, truly nauseated. "Angela, are you saying that Lyle did this to you again?" He was silently pleading in his head for her to say no. But she just nodded at him, her face pale and grim.

"Yes, Tony. I locked the door but he had the key. On the third night, I didn't even bother fighting back; I just . . . let him. It was over more quickly that way. He'd come in, do his thing and then leave to go back to his wife. To this day, I wonder if she suspected anything." Angela shook her head in defeat. "Tony, during the day, he was extra nice to me. He knocked me off balance. He knew he had a good victim in me, that I wouldn't say anything. But I threw out all the gifts he bought me—he was treating me like a mistress."

"A mistress? But you were Sam's age. You were a little girl. Angela, you should have told his wife. Told somebody! That creep should have gone to jail!"

"It was 1965 Tony! I had no idea what to do. It's not like there were public service announcements about sexual predators. There was no Oprah Winfrey informing the masses! I thought I was the only one. And I felt guilty, like it was partly my fault!" Angela's emotions were beginning to surface now; their intensity crashing through her tough protective defense mechanisms.

"What? How could you think it was your fault?" Tony was thrown.

"Because I'd had a crush on him! I'd let him get close to me after Daddy's death. I'd let him into my heart, my confidence. I so desperately missed Daddy that I let Uncle Lyle take his place. That was wrong! I shouldn't have confided in him. I shouldn't have let him hug me so tightly all those times that he did. But I wanted his attention—craved it. He made me feel better and I sought him out!" Years of repressed guilt and shame poured out of Angela. Like a tidal wave of grief, it washed over her and she gasped, suddenly unable to breathe.

"Oh Angela. You think that because you needed a father figure, that it gave Lyle permission to abuse you the way he did? No! No, this was not your fault!" Tony shouted. "Don't you see, Angela . . . if I died and some old guy befriended Samantha and hurt her, it wouldn't be her fault. Can you see that? Can you?!" He had to make her see it.

"I don't know, Tony. I just don't know. But I felt so ashamed. I was shy about my body; I'd only recently hit puberty. For him to see me and touch me …" a small sob escaped her as she remembered how utterly helpless and humiliated she'd felt when Lyle had lifted up her nightgown. She'd desperately tried to push it back down, slapping his hands away, even biting him. But that had only earned her a hard slap. She cringed at the memory-the painful emotions etched on her face.

"Angela, it wasn't your fault. What Lyle did to you was terrible, criminal. And I wish I'd been there. I wish I'd been there to rescue you and to kill him. I'm so sorry this happened to you. Angela, it breaks my heart that you went through this." Tony wasn't one to cry. He'd almost lost it in front of Angela once before when she'd helped him clean out his father's apartment two years ago at Christmas. But he couldn't hold it back now, and he wouldn't—out of respect for her suffering. He was grieving for her innocence lost, the broken trust, the poor fatherless girl who had just wanted to be loved. As a father himself, it made him want to punch through the wall.

"Angela, I'm going to keep repeating it until you believe it—it was not your fault! You were just a kid. He took advantage of the fact that you missed your father! He was a sick son of a bitch." Tony didn't bother wiping the tears that were flowing freely down his cheeks. He wanted Angela to see them—to understand how upset he was by this. "And I want you to know", he continued his voice cracking painfully, "that I don't see you any differently. In fact, I have a whole new admiration for you, Angela. You survived this. Look at you now. You're the strongest woman I know!" Tony slowly and gently stroked her cheek. He didn't want her to flinch again. "You're strong and you did nothing wrong. You were just a kid, Angela. He wronged you. It was all his fault. Doesn't matter if you had a little crush on him or needed him to help you after your father's death. He had no right. He had no right to touch you that way."

"I did bite him, you know? And I fought back, hard. But I couldn't stop him." Angela hid her face in her hands in a symbolic attempt to erase away the brutal recollection. Lyle slapping her had shocked her even more than his kisses. She chewed hard on her lip and looked up again. Tony was crying in solidarity with her. The sad look on his face tore at her heart and she burst into tears herself. She needed him now, as an antidote to the horrible memories.

"Tony …", she gasped, as she reached out for him. She practically threw herself against him needing to feel his arms around her. He hugged her back tightly and protectively. "You didn't do anything wrong, Angela. It wasn't your fault", he repeated to her. They held each other fiercely, arms entwined around each other.

"You're a fighter, Angela. You did get away. You got away from him in the end."

"Yes, Tony. I did. I went to Montague Academy and got fat …", she let out a small tearful chuckle.

"Yeah but look at you now! You're amazing, Angela." Tony let go of her so he could look into her eyes. "Angela, I'm honored that you told me this secret. I will never betray your trust. You are a survivor and I respect you tremendously. That you could survive this and become who you've become! I'm proud to call you my best friend. And you can always count on me to be yours."

"Ooooh Tony", she said with tears in her eyes. "You're such a good man. I couldn't have asked for a better friend than you. Thank you, Tony. Thank you for listening and not judging. And for taking such good care of me during this flu. You're the best man I know." It didn't occur to Angela that her boyfriend Geoffrey would have desired this designation. Geoffrey was the furthest thing from her mind—she had a new best friend and he was the most important man in her life.

_Stay tuned for Angela's confrontation with Jim Peterson. _


	5. Fury

**Chapter 5**

Angela woke up feeling much better the day after revealing her deepest, darkest secret to Tony. For the first time in four days, she awoke without a sore throat, headache or fever. She felt weak, yes, but she'd successfully combatted the worst of her flu and navigated through old horrific memories with Tony as her confidant and best friend. _Best friend._ They were officially best friends; the mutual declaration solidifying and strengthening a friendship that was already so vital to Angela's daily existence. She needed Tony and she trusted him. And he'd shed tears for her; no man had ever done that. He'd bravely allowed, no, encouraged her to unburden herself. She'd never told a single soul about the rape or its associated guilt and shame, until last night. Tony's words stayed with her like a balm on her wounds. Tony who told her not to blame herself and who made her see for the first time how truly innocent she'd been. Seeing the events from his perspective gave her a new understanding. None of it had been her fault; Tony helped her recognize that Lyle was the _only_ guilty party in all of this. Lyle had betrayed her trust and stolen the last remnants of her childhood. Angela closed her eyes for a moment and mentally swept the image of Lyle out of her mind. She wasn't going to revisit her traumatic past again anytime soon. Her soul baring conversation with Tony had brought some healing to her ravaged psyche but she was also emotionally spent. She smiled now, looking forward to seeing him at breakfast. She felt well enough to go downstairs and was rather desperate to leave the confines of her bedroom.

XXXX

"Do I hafta eat these eggs? They look runny", Jonathan complained to Tony. The little boy was feeling a bit apprehensive; he wasn't allowed to see his mom and he missed her. Plus, he was worried because her fever had been so high. His anxious tummy churned at the sight of those yucky looking eggs.

"Jonathan, they're the same as they are every morning. Now come on and hurry up or you'll miss your bus!" Tony told him. He felt badly for the kid staring down at his breakfast with sad eyes. "Hey Pal-o-mine, your mom is getting better. You know, I bet she'll be having breakfast with us again real soon."

"Yeah, don't worry Jonathan. Dad said that your mom's fever was a lot lower last night." Sam added her own reassurances. She'd been very worried about Angela herself but hadn't wanted to let on in front of Jonathan.

"But she's been sick for days! My mom is never sick", Jonathan complained. He let out a small sniffle then tried to hide it. He didn't want Sam to see him cry.

"Actually, I'm feeling much better today", Angela announced as she swung open the kitchen door and shakily walked over to the kitchen table. She still felt weak but she'd deeply missed her son and wanted to see him before school.

"Mommy!" Jonathan exclaimed joyfully. "Mom! You're here! Can I hug her, Tony?"

"Go ahead kiddo. She does seem a lot better" Tony smiled at her. Jonathan happily threw his little arms around his mother's waist. Samantha got into the joyful melee and managed to hug Angela from the other side, each child greeting her enthusiastically. Angela felt their love and squeezed them back hard. "I've really missed you guys", she told them.

"We've missed you too, Angela", Samantha told her earnestly. "But unfortunately, we've gotta 'hug and run'. The bus is waiting. Come on Squirt", she said to Jonathan as she gently nudged him to get ready. The little boy shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth, suddenly feeling a lot happier and hungrier. He waved to his mom and followed Sam out.

Angela stared at the children's retreating backs as they hurried to catch their school bus. They were so sweet and loving . . . and innocent. She thought about Samantha, who had recently turned fourteen. Just a few months younger than Angela had been when Lyle had . . . **no**, she wasn't going to think about Lyle. But she thought about Samantha and her own younger self. Had she really been that young and small? Samantha—under the make-up and trendy clothes was still a little girl, only a few years older than her son. For the first time ever, Angela saw her teenaged self through maternal eyes. The realization of how young and vulnerable she'd been hit her hard, like a sick punch to the gut. "Oh", she cried.

Tony heard her distressing cry and turned around to face her. "Are you alright, Angela?"

Angela shook her head. "No! Was I that little, Tony? Like Sam? Ohhh, I was just a baby . . . I hadn't realized. How could he have done that to me at that age? I didn't realize . . . Tony?" She felt completely lost-the new perspective and understanding shocked her.

Tony noted the perturbed look in her dark eyes and quickly stepped over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "That's what I was telling you last night, Angela. You were just a kid, like Sam is now. None of it was your fault. Are you seeing it now?"

"Yes, Tony", she cried. "I am. But it's making me feel sick."

Tony pulled her into a hug and held her tightly. He knew that their talk last night would stir up a hornet's nest of emotions. After all, she hadn't talked or thought about those horrendous events for two decades. For it to all surface now was definitely taking a toll on her. And he wasn't going to let her go, not for a second.

They were standing in the kitchen, holding onto each other, neither wanting to let go. For the first time in her life, Angela was allowing herself to be comforted for the terrible trauma of her rape over twenty years ago. She let herself relax into Tony's embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms. She unwrapped her arms from around his torso and folded them up against her chest, nestling closer to him while he continued to hold her firmly against himself. Tony gently rubbed Angela's back in a soothing, circular motion to calm her down. Her breathing slowed down and she gratefully rested her head on his shoulder. How long they stayed like that, neither of them could have said. The knock at the door startled them; Geoffrey's trademark "Shave and a Haircut" rhythm rapped intrusively, breaking up Tony and Angela's tender moment. She regretfully extricated herself from Tony's arms and went to answer the back kitchen door.

She'd barely opened the door partway when Geoffrey's loud, exuberant enthusiasm assaulted her ears. "My Angel! You're up! You're feeling better. Oh, that's so wonderful!" he exclaimed happily.

"Hello Geoffrey. Yes, I'm feeling better. No fever today and I think I might even have some toast. Have you eaten yet?" Angela gestured to the kitchen table for him to sit. She needed to sit; her legs still felt rather wobbly.

"Hi Geoff", Tony greeted him politely, hiding his annoyance. "Can I get you some coffee?"

Geoffrey nodded at Tony and turned his full attention to Angela. "You still look so pale, my Sweetums", he told her. Angela had to hold back from rolling her eyes—she wasn't in the mood for her boyfriend's intense attention. She was still processing everything and Tony was the only person she felt safe enough to confide in. She knew that she would **_not_** be telling Geoffrey about Lyle. Just imagining his reaction made her cringe inwardly.

"Well, Angela? What do you say?" Geoffrey was looking at her, waiting for a response.

"What?" Momentarily distracted by her own thoughts, Angela had no idea what Geoffrey was asking her.

"Hey, did I lose you there? I was asking you about this weekend. Do you think you'll feel well enough on Sunday to accompany me when I take Mother Wells to the ballet? I had bought you a ticket before you became ill …", he looked at her expectantly.

"This Sunday? Oh, I don't know. That's only the day after tomorrow. I haven't done any work all week and I need to plan a strategy for winning my cereal account back from Jim Peterson." Angela loved the ballet but she wasn't crazy about boring old Mother Wells and she really did need time to do some work.

"But you said you already lost that account? Why would you waste your time trying to get it back? You win some, you lose some, Angela. However, an afternoon at the ballet will be wonderful. I'll pick you up and you can just rest and enjoy it!" Geoffrey tried to persuade her but was met by a glint of anger in her eyes.

"_I win some, I lose some_?! Really Geoffrey. I didn't_ lose_ this account!" She shouted indignantly. "Jim _stole_ it from me by spreading vile rumors about me. He insinuated to my client that I was fired from _Wallace & McQuaid_ for lewd sexual behavior. I can't let that slide!" A deep rage was welling up inside of Angela. She was angry at Jim but her fury was mostly directed towards Lyle and her lost innocence. The double whammy of vile attacks reached a crescendo and she could feel her blood begin to boil. Geoffrey just happened to be caught in the crosshairs.

"Angel, calm down", he said to pacify her and because he was stunned by the intensity of her anger.

"Don't tell me to _calm down_, Geoffrey! When a sick bastard like Jim Peterson thinks that it's okay to sully my reputation in order to steal my account, I need to fight back!" Angela felt the deep rage expand into her belly, then rise up into her chest until it popped out of her mouth, "I won't be treated this way!" she cried.

Geoffrey was flabbergasted. Where was his sweet Angela? This pale, angry woman was yelling at him and he didn't know what to do. He looked to Tony for help but was met with a shrug. Tony knew where this fury was coming from and he wasn't surprised by it.

"Here's your coffee Geoff. You know, maybe Angela should rest this weekend—she's been sick all week and has a busy week of catching up ahead of her." Tony was trying to maintain peace between the couple for Angela's sake. He knew she didn't need the stress of a fight with her boyfriend on top of everything else she was already dealing with.

Geoffrey glanced up at Tony, as if suddenly aware of his presence. He couldn't understand why Angela's housekeeper was suddenly butting in. And right now, Geoffrey felt like the proverbial fifth wheel—Tony and Angela were exchanging looks with each other—looks he couldn't comprehend. Nor could he understand why Angela had been shouting at him so angrily a few moments ago. He looked between Tony and Angela, hesitating before he spoke.

"Angela, Sweetums, if you need to rest this weekend and make a full recovery, then by all means. I don't want to tire you out", he told her in a soothing voice so that she wouldn't snap at him again.

"Thank you, Geoffrey. I will be resting, _and working on my account_", she added pointedly.

Geoffrey simply nodded, almost afraid of contradicting her. Right now, he didn't feel particularly welcome. "Well, I think I should be going and let you . . . rest. I'm glad you're feeling better, my Angel", he told her. He quickly gulped down his hot coffee, kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and let himself out, his usual self-assurance subdued.

Angela took a deep breath when he closed the door behind him. She wasn't in the mood for dealing with Geoffrey. Right now, the turbulent memories and emotions whirling about in her mind were making it difficult for her to remain calm. Plus, she did need to address Jim about his disgusting lies. She'd been too feverish and ill when she'd gotten wind of what he'd done. But now, she was feeling better and she had Tony on her side. She was going to let him have it!

XXX

Anger. Rage. Angela was on edge and she was mad. For so many years, she'd partly blamed herself for Lyle's attack. But not anymore. And for years, she'd put up with vulgar, sexist men in the workplace as something normal. Unpleasant but expected. Not anymore. She'd been wronged and she felt a deep visceral sense of injustice mounting within her. She paced the floor of her home office, unable to concentrate. It was Sunday afternoon and she'd rested sufficiently. The flu was gone and she felt much better physically, but the intense resentment and anger inhabiting her belly made her irritable and unable to sit still. Didn't help that she was also contending with a nasty case of PMS and cabin fever. She picked up her _Fiber Kernels Cereal_ storyboard and examined it closely. It was smart and funny; a perfect example of her creativity and hard work. She was proud of her ideas including the colour scheme, sunshine yellow and sky blue. Perfect for a morning cereal. Mr. Harper, the client had loved it and had been ready to sign. They'd even shaken hands. Did a handshake have no meaning anymore? Angela was fuming. She flung her storyboard onto her desk and stomped out of her home office seeking retribution. Jim Peterson wouldn't know what hit him!

**To Be Continued . . .** (I figure that Angela reaming Jim in deserves its own separate chapter and I don't have time to write this weekend so I just posted what I already had for the time being!)


	6. Victory

**Chapter 6**

Angela was waiting outside of Jim Peterson's office at _Wallace & McQuaid_. It was her old office—the office of the President. Despite having success at her own agency, Angela was still upset by her ousting from this place. Being the President of such a large advertising agency had been her dream job. To be fired for taking a vacation didn't sit well with her. She'd needed that vacation desperately and Tony had dragged her, quite literally to Mexico for some well-deserved R&R. It wasn't her fault that between all of the VP's, copywriters and creative minds, not one of those incompetent morons had been able to save a toilet paper account. And yet, the blame had fallen squarely on her shoulders because she'd dared to take a family vacation. She clenched her teeth and sat up straighter, waiting.

"Ms Bower?" the secretary addressed her. "I'm sorry but Mr. Peterson is busy in meetings all day. If you'd like to schedule an appointment with him, he does have an opening next month."

"Next month? No, thank you, Helen. Please tell him that I can wait here all day." Angela had no intention of leaving until Jim saw her; a visceral rage was building within her and she needed to deal with 'the Jim situation' today. She was primed for this and she wouldn't be sent away. Helen, however, looked harried and stressed by Angela's presence. She went into her boss' office and exited, her expression grim and embarrassed.

"You can't wait here all day!" she informed Angela quite apologetically. She hated relaying such a rude message. "Mr. Peterson says he'll have you escorted out by security if you don't leave." The secretary shrugged uncomfortably. She liked Angela Bower and felt very uneasy telling her this.

"I'd like to see him try!" Angela exclaimed indignantly. To be threatened with removal by security from her old office was more than merely bad-mannered; it was downright insulting. She stood up, pulled herself up to her full height plus heels, and towered over Helen. "I'm going in and if Jim isn't happy, he'll have to throw me out himself." And with that, Angela simply opened the door to Jim's office, ignoring the frantic secretary's protests.

"Hello Jim", Angela greeted him calmly as she shut the door behind her, hard. "Busy meetings, I see", she said sardonically as she scanned the empty room. Jim blinked in surprise and angrily stood up.

"Angela! How . . . how the hell did you get past my secretary?" he stammered.

"I walked past her, Jim. We need to talk!" Angela slammed her cereal storyboard onto his desk. "You stole this, Jim. And I don't appreciate the manner in which you did it. What exactly did you tell Mr. Harper about me?" Angela wasn't going to waste a second on small talk or social niceties. Right now, she was using every ounce of her self-control to keep her rage in check.

"I . . . I . . . said nothing. Mr. Harper simply decided to go with the best. And that's me!" Jim replied arrogantly once he regained his bearings. Angela bursting into his office unannounced had him at a distinct disadvantage.

"Really . . . nothing? You said nothing? Damn it Jim, you lied to him and you know it! I heard about what you told my client …"

"My client, Angela", Jim cut her off rudely. "He's **my **client now and you lost him. Don't be a sore loser. Just go back to your own little agency and find yourself some other fish. Small fish. Important clients belong here, in a large agency. You can't compete with me. You don't have anybody to …"

"To what Jim?" Angela didn't like his suggestive tone of voice.

"Come on Angela. You know very well what I'm trying to say", he hissed at her harshly. "Grant was your free ride to the top here. When he left, you couldn't cut it anymore. It's a well-known fact that you don't do your best work in the _boardroom_!" Jim paused to study her. Two angry red spots were forming on her otherwise pale cheeks and a dangerous glint shone in her eyes. He suddenly felt a bit nervous.

"You've got a hell of a lot of nerve!" she said, her nostrils flared in outrage. "What are you implying Jim? If I don't do my best work in the _boardroom_, then where do I do it? Go ahead, say it. Are you going to say it? Or are you too chicken to tell me what you think of me to my face?" Angela challenged him, her deep rage possessing her. She felt its powerful current crackling in her scalp and running down into her toes. It demanded to be expressed; the fourteen-year-old rape victim wasn't hiding anymore. She was ready to fight. "Well Jim?" she demanded.

"The bedroom! The bedroom! We all know you slept your way to the top, Angela! Girls your age don't become presidents! And Mr. Harper would rather work with people of integrity!" Jim spat out. He was shouting and didn't care. This little hussy couldn't just burst into his office and start bullying him. He wasn't going to have it. "I'm calling security now", he told her.

"Oh no you don't, Jim. I'm not going to let you wimp out of this one by calling for your bodyguard. We're not finished. I find it ironic that you speak about 'people of integrity', Jim. You couldn't possibly be referring to yourself now, could you?" she asked him sarcastically. "Because I know about the perks you've gotten for potential clients; the nudie bars and the call girls. I know all about your _Boy's Club_, Jim. Did you think I was blind?" She chastised him. "I had to be more creative than you. I had to come up with excellent campaigns because your way of winning new clients was the smutty way!" She gave him a disgusted look before continuing, "As a woman in this industry, I have to rely on my brains! That's why you bungling idiots couldn't even save a toilet paper account when I took my first vacation in years. And that's why you feel the need to steal my accounts and my ideas!" Angela was speaking truth and it irked Jim; he couldn't let her say it nor admit to it himself.

"Angela, we all knew that you were _special friends_ with Grant and that's why he promoted you to President. You can't deny that", he told her as nastily as possible. He smirked at her when she went pale and stumbled back.

Angela was reacting to the phrase _special friend_—it made her want to vomit. Lyle had called her his _special friend_ and made her do _special things_ to him over and over again during those three nights of hell. But right now, she was dealing with Jim Peterson and had to push the intrusive thoughts about Lyle out of her mind.

"I was not Grant's _special friend_. We held off on our relationship until **_after_** I got the presidency. What we did after that is none of your damned business!" Angela told him. She was secretly relieved that Tony had come into her life right before she was appointed President, urging her not to sleep with Grant. He'd been right—she never would have known that she'd gotten the presidency based solely on her creativity and hard work had she slept with Grant beforehand.

Jim looked at her incredulously. He'd already formed his opinion about Angela Bower. Jim was unable to believe that a woman fifteen years younger than himself had beaten him for a promotion on the strength of her merit and talent alone. He couldn't believe it without suffering damage to his own ego. Therefore, he chose to believe the lies and innuendoes. Throughout the years, more gossip had been added, and he believed all of it. As far as he was concerned, this woman was an unhinged whore trying to steal his rightful account from him. He did not feel guilty in the least. He'd simply been apprising Mr. Harper of her soiled reputation, after all.

"You can't use my storyboard, Jim!" she yelled at him. "You can't use my ideas for that cereal account!"

"I'm using some of Mr. Harper's suggestions, Angela. Don't flatter yourself."

"And where do you think he got them from?" Angela shoved her storyboard close to Jim's face. "Are these the ideas Mr. Harper suggested?"

Jim swallowed hard and looked away. He just wanted her out of his office. And now, he was being presented with evidence that did indeed make it seem like he'd stolen her ideas.

"You stole my client and my ideas, Jim. And you tried to ruin my reputation in the process with your lies. You're despicable. I want you to tell Mr. Harper that you lied!" she demanded furiously.

"No way! I didn't lie, Angela. Everybody knows that you f_d your way to the top of this company!" Jim fully believed what he was saying.

Angela gasped back in shock. Jim's obscenity felt like a slap across the face. To be accused of such a thing when she could literally count on one hand the number of men she'd ever been with made her head spin.

But Jim knew he was screwed. Angela's storyboard proved that she had come up with the innovative campaign. He hadn't realized that Mr. Harper's so-called original ideas weren't his after all. This could be a professional disaster for him especially if Angela got lawyers involved. He needed to save face and dump the account.

"Angela, Angela, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was so rude. That wasn't fair of me", he began in an attempt to soothe her.

Angela backed away from him, disbelieving. "What do you want, Jim?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, I thought we could deal in _your currency_, Angela. You want this account back? I can give it back to you . . . for a price", he began while locking his pale grey eyes on her confused dark ones. He undid his belt and the top button of his trousers, looking at her expectantly.

Angela took a step away from him, unwilling to comprehend what he was suggesting. She had been Jim's boss for years and while not always a pleasant person to work with, he'd never ever made a pass at her.

"Come on, Angela", he taunted her. "This is how you've always succeeded. Don't look so shocked. You came here demanding that I give you back that cereal account. This is how you can get it back. Don't pretend you haven't done this before. Two minutes and you're done. You don't have to play coy with me." Jim was on a power trip; he was finally the one in control. He'd hated working for Angela all those years—she'd been untouchable except through gossip and innuendo. Now, he had her right where he wanted her-where he'd wanted her for years. He unzipped his fly and beckoned her towards him.

Angela was shell-shocked and completely fused to the ground. What Jim was suggesting was beyond disgusting. She could hear Lyle's voice superimposed over Jim's, "_Come on Angela, just kneel down and ._ . ." **No!** The fury stormed in her belly and charged through her foot. The kick was swift and hard; Jim went down like a tonne of bricks, clutching his groin in agony.

She watched him writhing on the floor, gasping for breath. Angela stood tall and drew a deep breath of her own. "You're a pervert Jim", she informed him.

"Gonna call security", he managed to squeak out, his face red and scrunched up in pain.

"Go ahead, Jim. And explain to them why your pants are down around your ankles. I expect you to return my account to me today. If I don't have it back by five o'clock this afternoon, I'll personally tell every single one of your VP's what you tried to pull today as well as sue you for theft of intellectual property." Angela opened the door to Jim's office and called his secretary in. Helen stared at the scene in confusion until the sick realization of what she was seeing hit her.

"Helen, you might prefer having a boss who isn't such a disgusting pig", Angela told her. "I hope Mr. Peterson hasn't tried to ask you for certain _special favors_. Perhaps you should warn the other female employees about him." The secretary nodded dumbly, her mouth hanging open.

Angela sauntered out, her step light and free, albeit a bit shaky. She'd won this round. She'd fought back and won! The _Fibre Kernels Cereal_ account was returned to her before noon and she had a very productive meeting with Mr. Harper that very day. Helen had a big mouth; she told everybody and anybody that her boss was a pervert. She respected and believed Angela Bower. When news got around about Jim Peterson's morning, the VP's had an urgent meeting with the Board of Directors and together, they agreed to oust their depraved President.

XXX

That evening Angela arrived home to the comforting smell of Tony's cooking. She felt both elated and exhausted; she hadn't learned of Jim's expulsion yet but she was satisfied to simply have her account returned to her. "I'm home", she called out to nobody in particular.

"Mom! Angela!" Jonathan and Samantha called out to her at the same time, stampeding down the stairs like galloping elephants. Angela hugged them tightly and kissed their heads. She was so happy to be in the loving arms of her family. Tony exited the kitchen in time to see Angela hugging both children closely against herself. He knew how much the kids had missed her during her illness. She looked up at him now and smiled, a genuine heart-felt smile directed at him. He couldn't help but smile back at her; her return home always filled him with joy.

"Hi, how was your day?" he asked her. She looked tired but triumphant; her hair haphazardly secured into a loose bun with a comb. Tony had to fight the urge to yank that comb out of her hair and watch it spill over her shoulders. He blinked and walked towards her.

"Tony, I could use my Friday martini today even though it's only Monday", she announced.

"You got it, Angela. Is everything okay? How did your meeting with Jim Peterson go?" Tony was dying to find out the details of Angela's confrontation with Jim. Mona had taken the day off, so she had no news.

"I got my account back", she told him. The kids whooped and hollered, reminding Angela of their presence. She couldn't give Tony the full version of events in front of them.

"You did?! Angela, that's terrific. I knew you could do it!" Tony exclaimed happily. He poured her a martini and brought it to her, dry with two olives.

"Thank you, Tony." Angela gratefully accepted the drink and restrained herself from chugging it. Her nerves were still a bit shaken from her meeting with Jim. She drained her glass and waited for the soothing martini buzz to hit her.

"What happened, Angela?" Samantha asked her, curious. "How did you get your account back?"

Angela sat on the couch and handed her empty martini glass back to Tony. "Another one", she mouthed to him. If Tony was surprised, he didn't show it as he mixed her a second drink.

"Well . . .", Angela began, wondering how much to reveal. "Jim wouldn't see me and said he was in meetings but he wasn't. I walked into his office, uninvited and showed him my storyboard. I told him he couldn't steal my client and my ideas and I . . .er, threatened to sue. Right. So, he backed down." Angela's speech was stilted and uncertain as she gave her watered down version of events. The kids looked at her quizzically, as though waiting for the punch line.

"That's it?" Sam asked. "That's all you had to do?"

"Um, yeah", Angela lied, unable to face the girl while doing so. Tony could tell that Angela was holding back something big. He handed Angela her second martini and asked her to come into the kitchen to taste something. Then, he sent the kids upstairs to finish their homework before dinner.

Angela followed Tony into the kitchen. "What do you want me to taste?" she asked him.

"Nothing. There's a casserole in the oven and it's not ready yet", he replied. "Spill it, Angela. What happened with Jim Peterson that you couldn't say in front of the kids?"

"How could you tell that something else happened, Tony?"

"Seriously? Angela, I know you. I can tell when you're holding something back. Come on, I'm dying to know what happened with that scumbag!"

"You're not going to like this, Tony", she began by warning him. "But promise me you won't go over to Jim's house and beat him up."

"Why? What the hell happened?" Now, Tony was concerned.

"Tony . . . promise?" Angela needed his reassurance.

"Yeah, sure. I won't beat up Jim Peterson", Tony assured her.

"After Jim regaled me with all of the disgusting ways I became President, I realized today that he actually believes every single word of that vile gossip. I got quite an earful from him about how I slept my way to the top of _Wallace & McQuaid_. Of course, Jim had more colourful language for it." Angela avoided eye contact with Tony. She held up her martini glass and swirled her drink around before popping an olive into her mouth.

"So, he insulted you? That pig! That vile son of a …"

"Tony!" Angela interrupted him. "I haven't gotten to the worst part." She couldn't look at him now. She knew this would hurt him but she also knew he could handle it, just like he'd so gracefully handled hearing about Lyle. And she needed to talk, to unburden herself to her best friend.

"What did the scumbag do, Angela? What's worse than insulting you like that?" Tony looked at her questioningly.

She turned around and faced him, suddenly filled with an inexplicable urge to squeeze him tightly and trace his full lips with her fingers. Where did that come from? She could lose herself in his warm gaze—it was so caring and concerned. "What is it, Angela?" he asked her, more gently this time. His intense attention to her made her blush.

"Tony?" she looked at him tenderly and motioned for him to sit down. "Jim wanted payment for the account and I ended up kicking him-hard."

Tony looked confused. "He wanted money and you kicked him? In the shin, I hope."

"No, Tony. The payment he wanted was a _special favor_. The kind Lyle got from me. He unzipped his pants and told me to kneel …" she was shamefaced, looking down at the table now. She could hear Tony's breathing speed up and feel his horror.

"I'm gonna kill him, Angela!" Tony shouted, promises forgotten.

"No! Tony, I kicked him. Hard. Not in the shin, but higher. Where it really hurts a man", she smirked now, her shame forgotten.

"You did that, Angela?" Tony asked her, impressed and a bit incredulous.

"Tony, he went down so fast", she said proudly. "I brought him down. Me! All by myself. Got my account back too!" She was proud, dammit.

"I knew you were a fighter", he told her.

"Tony, I don't think I could have fought back so hard if you hadn't convinced me that the Lyle stuff wasn't my fault. It means so much to me that you . . . that you . . . oooh, Tony!" Angela choked on a sob. She grabbed Tony's hand and squeezed it hard. She had no words but when he saw the expression of affection and gratitude on her face, he understood.

"Anytime, Angela. I'd do anything for you." And he meant it. He would kill for her, of that he had no doubt. And he'd sacrifice himself for her too. He'd already fallen for her and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He held up their joined hands and kissed the back of hers. She looked at him in surprise and smiled.

"Tony, I'm so glad you're in my corner", she told him as they let go of each other's hands.

The back door startled them as Mona entered the kitchen, arriving for dinner. "Angela! Did you hear the news?" she began, a huge smile lighting her face.

"Oh, you mean that I got my account back, Mother? Of course I heard. I was there", she laughed.

"That's old news, Angela. I'm talking about the news I heard on the radio; President of _Wallace & McQuaid_ fired for sexual harassment. Jim Peterson made the news! What happened today, Angela?" Mona was beside herself with curiosity.

Angela stared at her mother in disbelief. "He made the news, Mother?"

"Yes, Angela. Seems that some of the female employees complained about him—namely his secretary and one other woman. Apparently, he'd been quite "grabby" and "inappropriate" with them. But you were there today! What went down? Come on, dish it out kiddo!" Mona was all ears, eagerly waiting to find out more. She loved good gossip.

"Well Mother . . .uh, his secretary saw him behave very inappropriate today. I guess she realized it was worth telling on him after what she saw . . ." Angela began, feeling rather self-conscious and uncomfortable.

"Tell her, Angela! Tell your mother how you kicked that bastard to the ground", Tony exclaimed. He was so proud of her strength.

"You kicked Jim Peterson to the ground?" Mona asked incredulously.

"I had to, Mother! He propositioned me in a most disgusting way and was taking his pants off. He wanted a _special payment_ in return for my own account back. There's no bloody way I would ever do that! He's a pervert and I let him know it. Helen, his secretary saw him on the ground, pant-less. I guess she had her own story to tell as well. Can't say I'm surprised." Angela hadn't wanted to get her mother involved in this story but she was proud of herself.

"Angela! You mean to tell me that you kicked him in the …"

"Yes Mother! I did. And he just came down hard!" Angela covered her mouth to stifle the little giggle that popped out.

"Ha! My daughter's a fighter. I like that, Angela", Mona cheered her. "As if you'd do anything as disgusting as what Jim Peterson was suggesting. Clearly, he doesn't know you."

"No Mother, he does not. I won't be coerced. I won't be victimized." Angela felt strong like the survivor that she'd become. She was never going to let herself be a victim again.

"Besides, you're such a prude, Dear", Mona couldn't help but throw out a tiny barb. It was simply her way.

"If I'm a prude, I have very good reasons for it, Mother", Angela couldn't help herself—that just popped out of her mouth. Realizing she'd said too much, she turned around to leave the kitchen.

Tony, who believed all along that Angela needed to confide in her mother about Lyle put a hand on her shoulder. He whispered into her ear, "Angela, maybe you should tell her. She'll understand where you're coming from. She's your mother." The strength of conviction in his eyes bore into hers. He didn't like family secrets and he knew that Lyle was a wedge between mother and daughter.

"What's going on? What are you two whispering about?" Mona asked suspiciously.

Angela met Tony's gaze. He knew her and she trusted him. She trusted him with her life and her son's life. He'd been right about so many things and he'd helped and encouraged her. He held out his hand to her and gestured to the table. "I'll stay with you", he promised. "Whatever you need Angela—you know I'm here for you."

Mona was confused but she could see that something important was being decided. She sat down at the kitchen table. "Angela? Is everything alright?" she asked.

Angela took a deep breath and looked at her mother. She didn't want secrets from her anymore. Lyle wasn't going to steal anything else from her ever again. He'd stolen her virginity and her innocence but she'd be damned if she was going to let him steal closeness with her own mother. Her mother needed to hear this so that, together they could heal. She looked over at Tony gratefully and squeezed his hand tightly. Together, they sat at the table, their hands clasped. With Tony as her best friend and support, she felt secure and protected. He'd stay with her for the entire telling.

"Mother, there's something I have to tell you. I'm a survivor! It all began right after Daddy died …"

The End


End file.
